


lips kissed broken

by copperwings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Bad Boy Keith (Voltron), Biting, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Hand Jobs, Keith might be an incubus or some shit idk, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prophecy, Shiro thinks he's going to die of too much sex, Some Plot, Succubi & Incubi, Tattooed Keith (Voltron), Top Keith (Voltron), Top Shiro (Voltron), one night stands developing into something more, they both get dicked down by each other ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperwings/pseuds/copperwings
Summary: “’m not kicking you out.” Shiro tries to sound shocked, but it’s ruined by a yawn. He reaches for Keith blindly. “Stay.”Keith leans in and whispers directly in his ear, “In that case, no shower. I like waking up smelling like sex. Makes me want more. Think you’re up for it?”Shiro swears his spent cock winces at the thought. “Maybe in the morning,” he cedes.Keith is going to kill him and it’s going to be a beautiful, hot, sexy death.





	lips kissed broken

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in less than 48 hours while I was sick with a cold, so if it reads like a fever dream that's because it kind of is. :'D

-

_[18 years ago]_

 

Shiro’s grandmother was a witch, they said. She died when he was six, so he doesn’t remember much about her other than she was very wise and always smelled like herbs. She sometimes told him stories or said weird things, and her eyes were old like the mountains he could see from his bedroom window.

“Kashi-chan,” she once told him. “There’s good in life, and it comes in all forms, shapes and sizes. The same goes for bad things. You might not recognize either of them when you first see them. Sometimes the true essence of something is hidden on the inside and only revealed after careful examination.”

She used to take his face between two wrinkled palms and look at him. She always mumbled something that sounded like a blessing and then nodded as if pleased about what she saw.

During one of the last times she ever did this, lying in the hospital bed, her brow wrinkled, and she wiped a thumb across his forehead as if puzzled.

“One day you will meet someone, and you won’t see their true essence right away,” she whispered. “You’ll know them by the roses on their fingertips.”

Shiro squinted at her. The words made no sense, but the way she said them was soft, like a warning whispered by the evening wind.

His grandmother sighed, bringing her hand to rest on his cheek again, thumb rubbing circles on his skin. She looked at him sternly. “Whatever you do, Takashi, be wary of this person. They hold too much power.”

 

-

 

_[present day]_

 

Shiro feels like he’s going to lose his mind, because Keith is so good. So, _so_ good, with the way he’s riding Shiro, grinding down on his lap with slow, torturous movements. His dark hair falls over his eyes when he leans down to kiss Shiro, rough and dirty. Shiro slips his tongue into Keith’s mouth and his breath catches when Keith sucks on it. Keith opens his eyes and grins, wicked, when he pulls back and starts moving his hips again.

Keith is undoubtedly the best lay Shiro has picked up in a while. Possibly ever, considering this is their first time fucking each other and also the first time anyone has ever coaxed two orgasms out of him in less than thirty minutes and is now sliding up and down his cock chasing number three. Shiro feels sore and spent, yet Keith still makes him want more. His muscles start to tighten, and his thighs tremble when Keith’s ass slaps down against them. It’s not going to be much longer, now.

Keith throws his head back, showing the line of his throat and the movement of his adam’s apple when he swallows. He picks up his speed, his right hand laid flat against Shiro’s sternum while his left grabs Shiro by the jaw. In the dim lighting, he looks ethereal, writhing and bouncing on Shiro like a demon spirit.

A demon spirit who feels fucking amazing around Shiro’s cock.

Keith leans forward and looks at Shiro through his bangs. His thumb slides to Shiro’s lips, and Shiro opens his mouth to suck on the finger. Keith groans, eyes slipping shut, and the sound is delicious music to Shiro’s ears. He’s heard this low-pitched growl a few times already; Keith is close.

That makes two of them.

Shiro circles his fingers tighter around Keith’s cock and thrusts up, letting the movement push Keith into his hand. “Come on,” Shiro pants, licking Keith’s thumb where it presses into his lower lip. “Come for me.”

Keith’s hand leaves his mouth, retreating to Shiro’s chest until he’s got both hands on Shiro’s pecs. Their rhythm falters, speeds up and turns into a graceless sprint toward the finish line.

Keith comes, hands squeezing Shiro’s pecs, and Shiro takes in the graceful way he lets go. Keith’s head rolls back and the moan he lets out sounds like the orgasm is punched out of him. He comes almost dry at this point, a few short streaks over Shiro’s hand and abdomen.

Shiro moans when Keith tightens around him and begs his body for release. He feels like he’s stretched thin already, achingly hard yet his body refuses to topple over the edge.

Keith must be sore, but he keeps moving, grinding against Shiro in shallow movements that make Shiro’s entire body scream with pleasure. Keith detaches a hand from Shiro’s chest, slides it down to his abs and smears a drop of his come on his index finger. Keith sucks his finger in his mouth, licking around it in an obscene display of wanton lust.

Shiro’s vision whites out as the third orgasm of the night crashes into him and then out of him, and the last thing he sees is _roses_.

Roses on Keith’s fingertips.

 

-

 

Afterwards, Keith lays his head on Shiro’s shoulder, and his fingers trace absent patterns on Shiro’s chest. Their skins stick together with a glue of sweat and come, and a shower would be a good idea right about now if Shiro could just muster enough strength to get up. His ears are ringing and a dizzy sensation follows whenever he moves his head.

Shiro’s eyes focus on the faint red lines on the pads of Keith’s fingers sliding over his skin. He grabs Keith’s hand in a gentle hold and lifts it up, palm facing the light on the nightstand.

Small rosebud tattoos decorate each finger. They’re inked in soft red, so they don’t stand out as much as black would.

“Cool tattoos,” Shiro says, bringing Keith’s fingers to his lips. He mouths the lines on Keith’s index finger. “Is there a story behind these?”

Keith rises up to one elbow and lifts his other hand, palm up, to show two more roses—one on his thumb and another on his index finger. The ones on his other hand are fully opened flowers, no longer shy buds. “I dunno,” Keith says. “I just like the way it looks.”

He says it all casual, but his expression indicates there may indeed be a story; it’s just one he doesn’t want to share with a random dude he met at a bar and hooked up with.

“Looks good.” Shiro feels his eyes sliding shut. “You wanna shower?” He glances at Keith from under his lashes.

“Depends,” Keith says and drops back down, settling against Shiro’s side. “Are you kicking me out or can I sleep over?”

“’m not kicking you out.” Shiro tries to sound shocked, but it’s ruined by a yawn. He reaches for Keith blindly. “Stay.”

Keith leans in and whispers directly in his ear, “In that case, no shower. I like waking up smelling like sex. Makes me want more. Think you’re up for it?”

Shiro swears his spent cock winces at the thought. “Maybe in the morning,” he cedes.

Keith is going to kill him and it’s going to be a beautiful, hot, sexy death.

 

-

 

The final two orgasms of their morning session probably last a minute each, and half of the time Shiro doesn’t know if he is writhing in pain or pleasure. Keith grins, crooked, like this doesn’t affect him with the same train-wreck ferocity that Shiro experiences. He only seems satisfied when Shiro is completely wrecked, and then he splays himself on Shiro’s bed like a lithe piece of art and examines his handiwork with a smirk.

Shiro wants to stare at Keith, drink in the lines of his muscles, but he’s afraid if he gets hard again it will be the end of him.

Keith showers and leaves with a wink and a wave of his rose-covered fingertips. “This was fun. We’ll do it again sometime, yeah?”

“If I’m alive, sure,” Shiro says, slumped in his bed in a fetal position, body still twitching in aftershocks.

Keith flashes a grin. “Call me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Sure you do. Check your phone.”

Shiro doesn’t know at which point Keith added his number to his phone, but it’s there when he opens the screen lock. Which, in retrospect, is a bit disconcerting because one needs either Shiro’s fingerprint or a password to get through the lock, and Shiro doesn’t recall giving Keith access to either of these during their time together. But either way, Keith’s number is now on his list of contacts, attached to an avatar that’s a closeup selfie of Keith’s mouth. His mouth in the photo is cracked open, red and raw; lips spit-slick and swollen. Honestly, the photo is more obscene than a dick pic. Shiro would get hard from just looking at it, if it wasn’t for the fact that his dick is too sore to express interest in anything right now.

 

-

 

“Seven times?” Matt repeats dryly and puts the lid on his takeaway coffee. “Really?”

Shiro spreads his hands, grabbing a handful of creamers and peeling one open. “I wish I was kidding. I thought I was going to die at one point.” He pours the creamers into his coffee with trembling fingers and pops the lid in place.

Each tiny movement of his muscles makes him wince. Every part of his body aches from pleasure. He didn’t know it was possible before, to be in such pain from so much pleasure. He’s covered in bitemarks and his lower lip is swollen where Keith dragged it into his mouth and sucked on it. Shiro licks his lip, feels the swollen tenderness with his tongue, and his fucking cock has the audacity to twitch with mild interest. Like he’s going to be able to come for days after Keith’s treatment.

“Wild ride, huh?” Matt looks up and down his body like he can see the ailments ravaging Shiro’s body through his clothes. “Are you gonna see boy wonder again, then?”

Shiro shudders. “I think I need like a week of recovery time before I can even think about it.”

 

-

 

Keith doesn’t give him a week. Keith barely allows him four days, because on Wednesday he appears knocking on Shiro’s door, and when Shiro opens he finds himself face to face with Keith in skin-tight leather pants and a red jacket. The jacket is unzipped, displaying the fact that Keith wears no shirt underneath, and Shiro sucks in a breath when he sees the outline of Keith’s hard cock straining the crotch of his pants.

How is he supposed to say no to this?

Keith crowds him to the bed with hungry kisses, and Shiro’s body aches for him. His body knows what is coming, but instead of cowering in fear it just blasts full speed ahead like it longs for that sweet pain.

During their first night together Keith sat on his cock until Shiro was dry and aching, but this time Shiro gets Keith’s mouth, Keith’s fingers, Keith’s cock buried deep inside him until he sees the damn pearly gates behind closed eyelids—the human body isn’t meant to be suspended in a web of pleasure for this long.

The third round finds Shiro on his side, a soft gasp falling from his lips every time Keith pushes in from behind, slow and intense. Keith has the angle nailed down to an art form, like he knows just how to tilt his hips to make his cock slide over Shiro’s prostrate on each upward thrust. Shiro’s eyes water, because the slow-building burn is so good, Keith is so fucking good and he thinks his brain might explode any second.

Keith’s fingers leave his hip and sneak over to grab his cock. Shiro sobs at the slow-paced languid strokes of Keith’s hand, timed to match each thrust of Keith’s hips. Behind his back, Keith bites his teeth in Shiro’s shoulder right above his shoulder blade, worrying the spot with his lips and teeth until Shiro’s skin is a live wire in all the places he’s been touched.

Shiro looks down to where his cock strains against his stomach, flushed and leaking from the torturously slow attention of Keith’s hand. Keith thumbs the head on each upstroke, and seeing a peek of his rose tattoo teasing the slit sends Shiro into a downward spiral.

“Oh—fuck—Keith—” he manages, strangled. His body is desperately searching for release, any kind of release.

Keith detaches his teeth from Shiro’s shoulder long enough to whisper, low and ragged, right into Shiro’s ear, “Look at you, coming with my cock inside you. You’re so good, so good to me, Shiro.” His lips tease Shiro’s earlobe. “Now come for me.”

And Shiro does. He looks down at his cock, twitching as he shoots strings of white on the sheets and on Keith’s hand. He feels nothing, he feels everything, he feels like he can hear touches and taste sounds. His senses rearrange themselves, warping out of his body and back into it again. Shiro dies and comes back to life, and it hurts so good that he cries out.

Behind him, Keith shudders and halts. Through the haze of orgasm, Shiro feels the pulse where their bodies are connected, where Keith is buried balls deep in his ass.

Shiro blinks at the stripes of his pillowcase, trying to summon back command over his body. He feels like a dishrag that’s been wrung dry a few times too many. Keith slips out of him, and Shiro whimpers.

“So good,” Keith pants, breath hot against Shiro’s skin. He kisses the tender spot above Shiro’s shoulder blade, and Shiro feels a tear slip out from the corner of his eye. He’s such a mess that his body doesn’t know how to respond to stimuli anymore.

“Need to—sleep,” Shiro rasps. “I’ll die if I don’t sleep.”

Keith laughs, low and soft against his skin. “You’re not allowed to die.” The mattress shifts as he gets up. Shiro squints and his eyes follow Keith’s sculpted ass when it crosses the room into the kitchen. Keith returns soon with a glass full of water.

“Drink this,” Keith says, nudging Shiro. “Don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

Shiro drinks the water and then endures a borderline painful moment when Keith gently cleans him up.

“How do you do it?” Shiro mumbles. “Reduce me to a useless mess like this,” he clarifies when Keith makes an inquiring noise.

Keith laughs. “Guess I’m just that good.” It should sound like conceited bragging, but Keith states it like a fact.

So far his track record says he’s not wrong.

 

-

 

Shiro wakes up to Keith sucking his cock. Keith doesn’t resist when Shiro startles and his hips snap up involuntarily, driving his cock down Keith’s throat. Keith takes it all in, making slurping noises around the shaft while Shiro’s cockhead hits the back of his throat.

Shiro groans and throws his hand over his eyes, balls aching already. “Jesus christ, what are you?”

Keith pulls back, swirls his tongue around the head and then looks up coyly. His lips are red and bruised. “I’m the bad boy your mother warned you about,” he says with a sly smile, before diving back down.

 _No_ , Shiro realizes afterward. _You’re the one my grandmother warned me about_.

After Keith leaves, Shiro takes a minute—or fifteen—to regain the simplest muscle commands that allow him to get up from his bed. He pulls on some boxers and walks over to the bookshelf.

Among his college study books stands the leather-bound journal his mother gave him on his eighteenth birthday. She said his grandmother wanted him to have it.

The journal is filled with poems and thoughts, some more coherent than others. Toward the end they get slightly loopy, and there, among the last entries his grandmother wrote before her death, Shiro finds it—the prediction, or prophecy, or what-the-fuck-ever it is. It’s only four lines long, written in his grandmother’s cursive that toward the end got frail and delicate, just like her. She only told him the first line out loud, and he discovered the rest when he got the journal.

 

_roses blooming on fingertips_

_carrying seven souls_

_blood at the end of its tale_

_and lips kissed broken_

 

It’s haunting to read the lines, especially now, with Keith in the picture. Keith already checks two of these four boxes, with his rose tattoos and his obscenely red lips after their hours-long sessions.

Shiro doesn’t know what to make of the other two lines. He copies the lines onto a blank page of his notebook and stares at them. Maybe someday he’ll ask Keith if they mean anything to him, out of curiosity.

Shiro doesn’t believe in predictions or magic, but he believes his grandmother was an extraordinary woman. Whatever she saw in his face all those years ago must mean something.

 

-

 

Shiro is studying for his physics test when someone knocks on his door.

Shiro looks up and swallows a lump in his throat. Only one person shows up at his door without advance warning; and he can’t let Keith in, not now when he needs to study and not get his brains fucked out. Over the past two weeks, Keith has showed up five times, always unannounced, already hard in his pants and with a look of determination in his eyes.

It’s not that Shiro doesn’t love the arrangement they have—sex with Keith is always mind-blowing. It’s just that Shiro’s brain goes into shutdown mode as soon as Keith enters his field of vision, and what follows is usually nearly twelve hours of constant fucking and Keith playing him like a fiddle. He can’t afford that with the test looming just two days away.

The rap of knuckles against the door repeats. “Shiro?”

It’s Keith. Shiro holds his breath, resisting the urge to leap to the door.

“Shiro, please.” Keith sounds hoarse and desperate. “I need help.”

Shiro’s pens and papers scatter on the floor and he’s at the door in three long strides.

Keith leans on the doorframe, breathing heavily. He looks remarkably less seductive covered in blood. Several deep lacerations trickle blood on his clothes, or what’s left of his clothes anyway. He looks like a pack of hyenas got to him.

“What the fuck?” Shiro blinks. “Keith, holy shit, what happened?”

Keith coughs. “Sorry, I—I didn’t have any other place to go, they already know all my usual hiding spots.”

“ _What?_ Who’s _they_? And why do you have hiding spots?” Shiro lets Keith limp inside.

“Old feuds,” Keith rasps, coughing. He puts his hand over his mouth and it comes back streaked red. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re seriously injured, we need to get you to a hospital.” Shiro looks around, trying to remember where he put his car keys.

“No.” Keith clings onto his shirt. “No hospitals. I’ll be fine, I just need to—”

“Keith, you’re bleeding all over my carpet _and_ you’re coughing up blood.”

Keith looks at him, and Shiro could swear his eyes are usually not this color. Before, he’s seen shades of blue and purple, but Keith’s eyes now are bloodshot crimson.

“Shiro, it’s _fine_. I, uh, I have seven more left.”

“You’re in shock, you’re not making any sense,” Shiro mutters, pressing the back of his hand on Keith’s forehead. It’s damp and hot. “And you have a fever.”

Keith curses under his breath. “I had hoped I could bring this up at a better time, but no such luck I guess.”

“Bring what up? What are you talking about?”

Keith rasps out a short laugh, then doubles over in pain. He cries out, and the sound is so raw that it hurts Shiro to the core of his soul.

“Keith!”

“Bathroom,” Keith manages to gasp.

Shiro supports Keith by the arm, and they stumble into the bathroom. Once Keith gets inside, he turns and straightens. “You can’t stay.”

“What, Keith, you’re badly injured, I can’t just leave you in there, you’ll—”

“I won’t die.” The words come out steady, despite the pained breaths that bracket the utterance. “Please. I need to do something, and I can’t risk—hurting you in the process.”

Keith fixes him a look, one that pleads him to let it go even if he doesn’t understand what’s going on. One that says, yes, they’ve been fucking, but they’ve also stayed in bed afterwards and talked for hours before fucking some more, so maybe it’s something more than just fucking by now. The look says Keith doesn’t want to see him get hurt, although Shiro doesn’t understand how he could get hurt in his own bathroom.

Shiro has learned to accept that there are things in this world that he doesn’t understand, and he needs to pick his battles when it comes to those things.

“Okay.”

Shiro takes a step back, stunned, and watches as the door slams shut as if in slow motion. The lock clicks into place, and the apartment falls silent.

Shiro tiptoes to the bathroom door, but he doesn’t hear even the slightest rustle from the other side. He looks around, puzzled. His study materials lay strewn across the table and the floor around it. The only evidence that Keith came here are splashes of blood decorating his path from the door to the bathroom.

Shiro should wash away the stains, do something, anything, but instead he sits beside the bathroom door and stares at it like it might give him answers.

Aside from a blinding flash of light that illuminates the edges of the door for a few seconds, it’s as if nothing happens in the bathroom. There are no noises, no sound of any kind coming from inside. Shiro sits outside for what feels like an eternity and waits.

Waits for Keith to open the door.

Waits for Keith to explain the unexplainable.

Waits to see if Keith is true to his words. He said he wouldn’t die.

 

-

 

Almost thirty minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Keith stands in the doorway. He looks exhausted, leaning on the doorframe for support. The bathroom behind him emits strange purplish smoke that’s seeping into the vents.

Shiro gets up from the floor and squints at him. It’s definitely Keith, just the way Keith looked previously, except the wounds are gone. Poof, vanished, like they were never there.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, hot and needy. “I need you to fuck me.”

“What, _now_?”

“Right now. It lends me strength. Please.” Keith beckons him closer with both hands, and Shiro sees the roses on his fingers have changed. Instead of five red roses on one hand and two more on the other, Shiro counts six roses outlined in soft purple—three on each hand. Thumb, index finger, middle finger.

Keith said not to worry, he has seven more.

Shiro takes an involuntary step closer to Keith.

Seven lives. Seven… souls?

The lines of his grandmother’s prediction bounce back. Seven souls. When they met, Keith had seven souls, displayed as roses on his fingertips. And blood at the end of his tale. So that was the end of the tale of… the seventh soul.

Shiro swallows and takes another step closer. _I have been hooking up with a demon, a spirit, a creature from another dimension._

That’s how far he gets in his deductions, before Keith is there and melts into his touch. Hands wrap around Shiro, cling to the back of his shirt. As soon as Keith gets his mouth on Shiro, he immediately sucks a mark above Shiro’s shirt collar, tonguing the tender spot as it slips free from his teeth.

“Are you—still you?” Shiro gasps.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

Keith looks up at him and grins, wicked. “You play video games, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Shiro looks at him, baffled.

Keith detaches one hand from Shiro’s shirt and points a thumb behind him where the last remnants of smoke are evaporating. “Well, I just wanna explain it in terms that are, uh, easier to understand. So essentially, I created a checkpoint in your bathroom. And then just—respawned there.”

“So technically, you died in my bathroom.” Shiro glances over Keith’s shoulder, but the bathroom looks like it did before, aside from minor blood splatters on the wall.

“Seven extra lives left,” Keith reminds him.

Shiro takes one of his hands in his, turning the palm up. “Down to six, now,” he mutters.

“Six more than what you have, big guy,” Keith says. “But you don’t get hellhounds and demons attacking you, so you don’t need that many extras anyway.”

Shiro is about to ask for details, but Keith silences him as he best knows how. He cups Shiro’s cock in his hand and squeezes, while his mouth crashes against Shiro’s.

“I need you,” Keith whispers into his mouth, desperate, and in this moment Shiro would give him anything he happened to ask for.

In Shiro’s tiny apartment, everything is close, but the couch happens to be a few steps closer than the bed, so that’s where they crash in a tangle of limbs, that’s where Keith all but rips his clothes off and that’s where Shiro bends Keith over the backrest and fucks him until Keith whines. On the first round, he’s weak, too weak to take initiative, so he takes what Shiro gives him and begs for more.

When Shiro’s first orgasm shudders into him, Keith growls, pushes him back with regained vigor and flips them so Shiro is seated on the couch. Shiro gets next to no downtime before Keith grinds himself down on his lap, sucking Shiro’s index finger into his mouth and coaxing him up for round two in minutes.

Keith sheds the tiredness from his limbs by ripping one orgasm after another out of Shiro.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro whimpers after round three. He’s starting to see exactly what Keith is, and how it could kill him if Keith was so inclined. Shiro is absolutely powerless at denying Keith what he wants, so all Keith would have to do is keep going until Shiro dies from exhaustion and then move on to the next victim.

Lucky for him, Keith does no such thing.

After round four, Keith holds him close while Shiro trembles with the aftershocks, weak and tired. He gets water while Shiro leans back on the couch and tries to calm his heartbeat to normal levels. He cleans bloodstains off the floor while Shiro gets something to eat.

Keith walks Shiro to bed and lies next to him. “You’ll give me more in the morning, right?” Keith asks, mouth trailing up Shiro’s neck and to his lips.

Shiro moans weakly against his mouth, eyes slipping shut. He understands now why Keith always looks like he’s bursting with energy after they fuck, while Shiro slumps down, more exhausted after each round. He understands why his grandmother was trying to warn him.

He was told to be wary of the person with roses on their fingertips.

Maybe Keith holds too much power. Maybe Shiro is going to die one day if Keith decides to suck him dry and not allow him to recuperate between rounds.

If that’s the case, he’s going to meet his fate with a blissful smile.

Keith lies down next to him and holds out six fingers—the ones with purple roses on them. “This makes your life easier. Now I only have to give you six orgasms instead of seven every time we fuck.”

If Shiro is going to die, he’ll die a very happy man.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> | [twitter](https://twitter.com/ofcopperwings) | [tumblr](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com/) | [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/copperwings) |
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta [thoughtsappear](http://thoughtsappear.tumblr.com/).
> 
> -  
> This fic was inspired by a song titled _a[Rikkisuudeltu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nin4pDFsNpI)_ by CMX, and the lines of the "prophecy" are partially borrowed from the song. Below are the original Finnish lyrics (with my own translation in brackets):  
>  _sillä on ruusuja sormenpäissä_ (it has roses on its fingertips)   
> _ja sillä on sieluja seitsemän_ (and it has seven souls)  
>  _sillä on liekit hännännokassa_ (it has flames at the end of its tail)  
>  _huulet on suudeltu rikki_ (lips have been kissed broken)


End file.
